vatheon | [ ♑ ] it was inevitable

Entry tags:

[ ♑ ] it was inevitable

who: grand highblood + summoner
when: 9/26 evening
where: their usual forest playground
style: prose
status: closed

The first message had been a tease, and the Grand Highblood hates being teased. But as much as he hates being poked fun of, he's no fool to go off on a rampage trying to find the ones who dare poketh their stick into the lion's cage. That just comes off as way too desperate, especially if he did manage to find the Summoner who would've likely been in no mood to indulge his bloodlust. Though there's also a 50/50 chance that he would've indulged him, which only infuriates the highblood more, being way too used to being The Most Fickle One of them all.

The second one was the message he had been waiting for. Finally.

He takes all the shortcuts from the cave and into their usual forest area, finding no reason to prolong such an anticipated meeting (and of course having very little else to do), and finds himself standing in a large clearing. The trees, rocks, even the ground itself shows wear and tear from their previous clashes, and the forest itself along with its wildlife seems to sigh heavily at his presence.

Then he cranes his neck up, and a wide grin slowly stretches across his face. The winged troll is perched high up on a tree, staring down back at him.

"Still in the motherfucking mood?" He wanders close to the tree, stretching out an arm to brush his hand against the bark. His fingers wrap tightly around the trunk as much as his hands will allow and shakes the tree viciously.

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The first message was for a reason! He was doing some basic info gathering for a friend and wanted to be reassured of something- and was. This time though, he specifically wanted to poke at him, wanted to shake the cage a little because dear god has his own cage been shaked a bit lately.

He thought things were starting to settle down finally. After his previous death and return, and then some emotional drama, and then, quiet. It was getting calm, and then-

The Sufferer showed up.

And dear god was he happy to see him, but not... not like that. It was tough, and Darkleer and Dualscar were having a hard time too. Summoner doesn't doubt Disciple's the same. So he's been using a lot of energy trying to be a medium, especially for his matesprit, but it's draining. So much emotional strain. He's not- used to it. Not anymore. Ever since Mindfang passed away he's avoided it, and now coming back here? Having all of this personal pressure was difficult and confusing and made it hard for him to keep his regular balance.

But the Highblood? He... stayed as he was. He might be a fickle bastard, might change his mind a lot, might just as easily laugh at you or rip our your throat. But Summoner knows that. He knows what to expect from him, he's been fighting indigos and highbloods for sweeps. The Grand Highblood is a reminder of what he knows and with him? He doesn't have to deal with this deep shit. The worst the Highblood could do is kill him and he's not gonna make that mistake and let it happen again. So he's in a way a release to be around. It might not be good memories the clown helps him remember, but the memories that occur are familiar and he knows how to confront them.

There's a slight smirk on his face when he finally sees the Highblood with his own eyes, instead of through various animals, and he sighs a little before clinging to the tree a little more when it shakes. A scowl, pursing his lips before moving to stand up, wings opening.

"Asking? Uh- really? Never been like you, you go soft while I was busy?" A smile, stepping off the branch to immediately have his wings catch him. He hovers high, but no higher than how high he had been perched before.

The Summoner's response is met with a hoarse cackle, letting his claws drag across the tree trunk before letting go. His gaze only remains upwards for a while, just to confirm that the troll would stay hovering, before letting them fall to a more even level. There's nothing particularly interesting on the ground level, but it's better than looking up at the lowblood.

"Not a motherfucking chance, but at least now a motherfucker can't be all sayin' a brother didn't do anything NICE for you!" He has one of his smaller clubs retrieved from his sylladex, swinging it idly in his hand, pacing slowly. "I can be REAL HARD, motherfucker, and I even got it all on good motherfucking authority that you just up and prefer it like that."

And another laugh, still pacing around leisurely.

Oh come on, don't like looking up to anyone? He'd think you'd be used to it since you're always on all fours for the sea hag.

"Oh yeah, nice, that is one of the first words that comes to mind when you come up, polka dots, definitely," a snorted laugh, lowering through the rather open canopy, but slowly. He keeps on the defensive, even while being sure he won't be killed during the meeting. But, being defensive like this comes so naturally, he hardly minds. If anything, he minds the stench the Highblood is starting to get again.

"Are the lewd jokes really necessary? C'mon. Keep it clean-" Pft. Laughs a bit, raising a brow.

"No wait, nevermind."

So, the highblood doesn't really feel like keeping up with his hygiene. Big deal! At least, to him it's not. The more to distract someone with, the better. ~~>;o)~~

"Your motherfucking suggestions of maintaining the shitty cleanliness is what's unnecessary! Get on down here and make it EASIER ON YOUR MOTHERFUCKING SELF, lest you prefer yet another wicked landscaping job by YOURS TRULY!"

He takes his club and slams it hard against a thin tree nearby. It cracks loudly and groans as it starts to tip, angled so that it falls in Summoner's direction.

Wow, downing that tree was pretty damn unnecessary and he's sneering as he flies away from it, swooping low. Summoner moves to land in the clearing a good distance away from the other troll. He feels his heart starting to pick up, it's rapid beat already betraying him a bit but for the most part he appears calm.

"Settle down, w-we'll get to it, damnit..." A deep breath, swallowing as he contemplates the weapon he'd prefer to wield at this time. Fighting is something that sounds appealing, despite how tired he feels, how exhausted and drained he is from the hours prior to this. His anxiety that arises when dealing with the Highblood is in no way like the anxiety he has been feeling lately with everything happening surrounding the Sufferer.

Finally, he removes a short lance from his sylladex, tossing it from one hand to the other a few times before looking back at the indigoblood with a slightly content expression.

"All right, hit me."

"Heh..." He watches the Summoner fly away, back to swinging his club around. He, on the other hand, is relatively calm. It's just another round of...fighting or flirting, whatever. He doesn't really care about what it's called.

When told to hit him, the highblood raises an eyebrow. A few leaps in his direction, finally landing on a half-buried boulder, he slips the club back into his sylladex. He winds his right arm back and balls his hand up into a tight fist.

"An offer a brother can't all up and motherfucking refuse!" Without even really thinking about Summoner's oddly content expression (mistaking it for smug cockiness), he swings. Hard.

As soon as the fist comes at him he shrugs into himself, blocking with the short lance just enough to brace himself so he doesn't break anything. But still he flies, oh does he fly. His body jerks hard to the side, wings shooting out to help slow him down but his ears are ringing and his head and upper body hurts, and fuck, he things he elbowed his own nose and now it's bleeding. He could've dodged, easy, but-

"Heh-" Smirks, teetering a little and shaking his head before whipping his bloody nose with the back of a hand.

"Sorry, let that one fly, try again." Yeah, dodging would've been easier, but he wanted that rush. Fast, dirty, simple. Come one, hit him again, he can take it. It's good training to let yourself get hit a few times, have to be able to deal with a little pain, hey? Also the pain's a nice focus right now.

The impact felt good, but not great. It could've been much better in his opinion. But it's just the first swing and one rarely gets a hit in on the first swing. He shakes out his hand, still ringing a little from hitting the lance, and grins.

With a low growl, he rushes Summoner again, aiming for a rib shot. He doesn't want to knock him out or anything. The fun would just end way too quickly if he focused too much on giving him pan damage. He likes playing with his prey (or in this case, his opponent - Summoner is far from being prey), and it gets him excited to just build up his adrenaline and energy like this. He doesn't even care that Summoner is letting himself get hit, which he notices right away. Now he's just curious to see what this is all about.

"Just try not to motherfucking BREAK, yeah? It all makes for the shittiest play time for a brother."

In an instant Summoner is gone from where he was just standing, a rush of wings and he's suddenly tip toeing on the top of the Highblood's hand, pointing his lance down at him, point aimed right between the Highblood's eyes.

Silly indigo, it's been sweeps since he was the troll you fought, the troll you stripped the wings of. This orange blood is the same, but so different.

He smirks, moving to pat the Highblood's cheek with his lance side.

"All that weight gain is slowin' ya down, chuckles. Come on, try at it again, that first one was free." Smirk.

Edited 2012-09-27 05:22 (UTC)

The idea of causing some permanent pan damage is extremely tempting.

His eyes open wide, pupils contracting, and his grin goes from relaxed to something a bit manic. It's no newsflash, but he really hates looking up at other trolls aside from her Imperious Condescension herself. More like, he hates it when people lower their eyes to stare down at him. He gnashes his teeth briefly in annoyance and knocks the tip of the lance away with the slap of his hand.

"Get your deformity of a NUB SKULL all out of your motherfucking seedflap-" he snaps, lowering his head slightly to angle his horns out at him - more of a quick threatening gesture rather than an actual attack - and lunges forward with an arm outstretched to try and snag the front of his shirt.

Summoner jerks back, smacking the to of the Highblood's hand with the side of his lance, tsking at him as he gets further away. Hate looking up? Oh, he can see that, and now you might even have to tilt your head a little as he stares down at you, glaring down his nose with a toothy grin.

"My shirt? Trying to get me bare for you, eh? But that'd just make me uncomfortable!" Grins before suddenly flying to the side and around, extending his arm and sending a piercing blow at the Highblood's side.

"GOOD."

Well, of course Summoner is being a huge dick and just joking around but hey, it's something the highblood actually wants to have happen. Summoner being uncomfortable, that is. Not shirtless. Not that being shirtless is necessarily a bad thing either.

His body twists around the thrusting tip, just a hair's width from getting a nasty tear in his shirt. A monstrous hand shoots out to clamp around the lance, gripping it tight and slamming the same hand into the floor to get the Summoner grounded.

"Don't motherfucking flatter yourself, motherfucker. Just need a good grip to get a fireblooded piece of shit like you snuffed the fuck out for a bit, YOU MOTHERFUCKING HEAR ME? Dirt all up and looks motherfucking better on the ground anyway!"

Being shirtless is always a possible necessity. Don't ask how that works, it just does.

Got his lance? Oh, well he'll just let go of it then and pull a new one from his sylladex. He's pretty used to indigos grabbing things in fights, so it's always good to be prepared for it.

Summoner quickly uses his new lance to try and send a blunt, hard blow to the side of the Highblood's head, following it up with a hard clock of a horizontal horn, something he's head way too much experience doing.

"Snuffed? Snaffed? Sniffed? Uh- Sniff? You gonna smell me, big and tall? That's pretty creepy."

We'll just take your word for it, then. Shirtless...ness being a necessity sounds like a real good deal, after all.

The highblood drops the lance once that new lance bashes into the side of his head, then he finds his head being tossed to the other side when that ridiculously high-blood proportioned horn clocks him real good. He allows himself a muffled pained snarl, clenching his teeth, and slowly brings his head back around to face the Summoner's smug looking mug.

"Smell you? That's all the motherfucking LEAST of your motherfucking worries in the terms of being CREEPY." The club suddenly materializes in his hand and he swings a few times as hard as he can, despite the fact that he knows just one good, solid hit could kill someone as small as the Summoner.

"I can be all kinds more motherfucking creepy, you know this. Been waiting to subject your motherfucking shitself to all kinds of things that'll make even the greatest motherfucker's skin crawl."

Cool. It's for the best.

There's a pang of interest at those words. The least of his worries in the terms of being creepy... What else would he do, was he willing to do, did he want to? And why the fuck was he caring... Summoner's eyes slim, snarling a bit, mostly at himself, but it looks to be directed to the Highblood.

The club swings, he dodges in a rush, then again, another dodge, then a third time, dodging once more. All the dodging doesn't really leave a spot in to attack him right now though, but at least those killer hits don't hit him. Summoner chuckles during the play, and soon flies up fast, wings opening wide to catch him and keep him up there.

"Waiting? Aww, that's uh- really pretty sweet actually."

Each time he misses, he feels his teeth clench harder, his blood boil just a little more. But there's also a funny sort of relief knowing that this motherfucker could really drag out a fight with him. His eyes follow him up, snarling at how his neck strains up.

"Ain't nothing sweet Motherfucker can be kind of slippery when it comes to subjecting the motherfucking physical extremities onto them."

"Aww, sorry, well uh-" Stops, a little higher up.

"Maybe you can pray to those gods of yours, hey?" Smiles.

"Oh wait, probably not-" Twirls his lance a few times, pointing it down at him from above.

"Cause you know, they're fake."

OK, yeah, no. That's just NOT motherfucking cool. Not only is this motherfucker flying above him like he's just so god damn untouchable, he all just had to go and say those motherfucking blasphemous words.

"You don't know what the MOTHERFUCK you're all up and blathering the motherfuck on about, motherfucker," the highblood seethes, his voice low at first. He glares daggers, eyes turning orange.

"You don't have motherfucking grounds to be making those sort of blasphemous claims, you fairy-ass motherfucker! Vomit-veined ditch burrowing creatures lower than motherfucking dirt didn't get, AND DON'T MOTHERFUCKING DESERIVE, the motherfucking schoolfeeding about this noise."

Now he's just full-on ranting. You can try and interject but he'll just yell over him. Unless you wait until he's done, then, well, let's hope Summoner isn't trying to talk and more occupied with trying to dodge a flying club.

The Highblood's angry response is definitely a good one and Summoner can't help how his smile grows, listening, watching.

"I'm uh, well I'm pretty sure I do know actually? You know, know that it is at least really ridiculous clown stuff." Summoner laughs, arching his back a little and sighing happily as he swings about his lance a few more times.

"You really don't have any real basis to believe in all that either. But since a majority of you guys are just mindless dogs, it makes sense that you'll believe whatever shit your fed." Oh lord... ranting. Summoner's nostrils flare, pulling in a deep breath. It is kind of interesting to listen to in some ways, but for the most part he's concerned by that club because-

"SHIT-" He dodges fast though it almost hits one of his legs. He stares back at where it flew past and then looks down at the other troll with a sneer, shooting in his direction, lance ready to stab at his chest.

Despite not stopping to actually respond to any of Summoner's shit, the highblood still bristles angrily while ranting and raving at the continuous insults being hurled at his religion. It's just such an obvious weak spot, but he's not used to it being poked at so openly by...well, anyone!

Then the club is being swung in Summoner's direction, and he almost smirks, but only almost, since that club flies right by him instead of smacking him out of the sky like a pesky moth. Ugh, OK, motherfucker is coming right for him-

"Come on, motherfucker..." He mumbles under his breath, standing his ground as the Summoner dive bombs at him. Arms out, claws hooked, he prepares himself for a collision whilst avoiding that lance somehow. When the Summoner is JUST close enough, the highblood draws another club that's smaller than his iconic main weapon (like the last one), and swings out against the lance tip in an attempt to redirect the motherfucker into a different direction.

Seriously, taking jabs at the Highblood's religion is like a big bright blue gem on his chest that just says "hit me here". And Summoner is just wailing on it. It feels good to make him so flustered and pissed off. So obviously that means messing with him more in that regard, one has to properly take advantage of tender weak spots, it's just the Nitram way.

"Close one, again, I suggest praying for better aim?" Smirks, looking back down. Part of him feels a little bad about all the anti religion talk. He's never say anything like this to Gamzee, even if he still doesn't really understand the whole clown thing and thinks it's pretty silly.

And then dive and-

SMACK!

His lance whirls around and Summoner snarls. The way the Highblood hit the weapon kind of twirls Summoner around in the air, but he decides to use that to his advantage and spins all the way around fast, aiming to slam his lance into the side of the Grand Highblood's face. Hey, it's not a piercing blow to the chest, but the blunt blow to the side of the head is still nice.

Ah, that bit of impact is satisfying enough. He can see the twirl happening, and he does see it, but all he can really do within the mere seconds that it's happening is brace for impact. He clenches his teeth hard, screwing his eyes shut as the lance impacts with the side of his face, throwing his head off to the side and releasing a pained growl.

"Cute little twirl, motherfucker!" He snaps, swinging his club out wildly. "The Cavalreaper training include motherfucking dancing as motherfucking well?"

Not only does he swing, but his free hand grasps out into the air for him as well, using those sharp claws he rarely cuts or files down to hook into a leg or arm.

The club swinging doesn't hit anything but it preoccupies him enough that he can't respond and-

"Ack!" A snarl, feeling claws dig into his leg. Summoner quickly swoops back, landing feet away and lookings down to his thigh, seeing thick, deep gashed, already dripping a little with orange. He sneers before letting out a snorted laugh, glancing up to him.

"Dancing? Hell no, lowbloods aren't pampered like with you and your training. You might be able to afford shitty drills and a lenient exercise, but I don't have the time for all that bullshit."

"HEH HEH, OH, RIGHT." The highblood snickers, flicking the tip of his tongue across his lips. "Sometimes I forget how motherfucking ignorant you unschoolfed motherfuckers are about that noise!" Because, wow, lenient? Nope. At least, not in his experience.

He looks down at his claws and allows himself a small shiver, grinning as he brings a claw up to his lips and laps at it slowly, both enjoying and grimacing at the sharp tang of rusty blood. His gaze remains fixed on the wound, eyes lighting up like motherfucking ~~Christmas~~ 12th Perigee.

"Why don't you let a brother teach you a few motherfucking STEPS-?" And he lunges again, club already swinging out to the side, preparing to launch itself at the wounded Summoner.

Edited 2012-10-05 07:33 (UTC)

A scowl before he's dodging, but not high like usual, this time he crouches low, switching his lance for a large knife. As he dodges low, he grips the hilt of the knife tight in his hand, and aims to slam in deep into the Highblood's leg from the side.

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